Stars and Castles
by StarFighter.Mobius1
Summary: The war between the Galactic Empire and Rebel Alliance consumes the galaxy; however it is within a forgotten star cluster on the fringe of known space where an unsung war is waged. What truly are the greatest qualities of a knight? Rated "T" For: Star Fighter Dogfights, Light Sabers Battles, Swashbuckling Heroism, and Heart Melting Romance.
1. Common Ground

The stars twinkled in their midnight radiance, raining down their silent majesty in a symphony of light. His eyes widened beneath them, seeking to drink in as much of the vision he possibly could. For, all of the hopes and dreams of men and knights alike, lie in the gaze of stars' serenity. Slowly, his eyes started to close; and in these priceless seconds, he found peace. His teeth ground and his muscles clenched as he reopened his eyes to see the sky fall back into a spinning blur - stars and nebulae whipped across his sights, and the subspace channel howled with the deathly scream of the pursuing TIE fighters.

He winced at the green cannon fire that whipped by his canopy, and without a word yanked back on the flight control stick with his entire might. As a TIE fighter roared past him on either side, he pulled his Star Fighter into a hard left roll that ended in a missile-lock on both enemy craft. His adrenaline laden fingers firmly pressed on the upper fire button. Two missiles screeched from the Star Fighter's lower fuselage, their engines burnt bright white light into a ribbon of exhaust trail as they neared their targets. The two TIE's were each struck by a missile, each detonating into a spectacle of white and amber embers that lit up the silver wings of the accelerating Star Fighter.

High over the skies of some forgotten world, on the outer rim of the galaxy, a squadron of elite spacecraft battled a swarm of imperial fighters. One of them caught the local sun's rays on its silver fuselage as it spun around to evade one pursuer and simultaneously release a volley of blue cannon fire that would cut down another. The squadron danced through the sky, skillfully, artfully, battling the imperial fighters with rare mathematical precision. These were no mercenary pushovers, they were something else entirely. Forming briefly into a five-ship flying "v", they broke formation just as swiftly as they merged with the second enemy wave, bringing the full might of their skill and weapons to bear on the imperial fighters.

The formation of five darted boldly through the enemy mass and ripped several TIE fighters apart with cannon fire. The lead pilot was the most experienced: however, it was not his kill record that brought him recognition, but that in all his time as pilot, he had never lost a single squadron member. He curled his star fighter through the flurry of cannon fire, streaking missiles, and exploding enemies; in the end lining up his sights with the next villain. The spacecraft they piloted were unlike any design encountered by either Imperial or Alliance forces; the pilots that flew them simply called them 'Raptors.'

"Roger, roger, sweeplock; I've got tone, fox-three." One of the Raptors released three missiles from its ventral weapons bay, each to streak across the sky and impact on three enemy fighters. A second Raptor followed the first, covered by a third, "right behind you, look sharp…. enemies closing, right side!" The lead pilot quickly jerked to the left and exposed the incoming hostiles to his wingmen's cannon fire. "They're down."

"This is Aquila-2, bogey on my six." The voice of one raptor spoke as it pulled away from its pursuer in a sharp turn. From the opposite direction, another silver raptor closed with the pursuing enemy and released a missile at point blank range. The explosion rocked both star fighters as they shot past each other. "Wrecked" the voice of second said plainly. "I'm glad you two are having fun. Anybody got a fix on where these guys are coming from?" The voice of a third pilot sounded: "Their attack vectors are all over the place." As if on cue, the lead pilot's cockpit A.I. chimed simply: "Warning, Incoming Star Destroyer."

* * *

With the most delicate of spoons, he stirred a dose of sugar into his teacup until it was satisfactorily distilled. He only slightly raised his left eyebrow as he tapped the spoon on the cup's ridge, verifying no stray drops of tea would escape the cup's boundary before setting the spoon placidly down onto the saucer. After dismissing the servers with a halfhearted motion of his wrist, he returned his attention to the young man standing beyond the opposite edge of the table. "Tell me again who and what you all are." His words were among the more condescending of those he spoke this week.

The man standing beyond the table managed to somehow be frustrated, confident, uncomfortable, articulate, impatient, and fully exhausted all at once… with an extra emphasis on frustrated. "I… we… are here to ask you for your help. What we specifically require is that-"

The reclining man interrupted quickly: "That's 'General Sir.'" Then taking his second sip of tea, he gestured to his plethora of multicolored decorations that ran up and down his uniform. "I'm quite sure I've earned all of the respects and privileges associated hitherto these awards; particularly given that you're here with your hands extended in bequest." His gaze back at the standing man was one of quaint fulfillment. The man standing before the General was too tired to become any more frustrated. So, with his prior thoughts frozen in suspension, he simply parroted out the phrase: "General, Sir." After but a second, the reclined man resumed: "Ah, yes, much better. In the civilized world, it's proper to demonstrate respect to those superior." The general smiled, fully satisfied in his self-praise. "Now tell me, what does any of this have to do with the noble Rebel Alliance's cause of freedom from persecution?"

"Not a damn thing."

The standing man's response nearly saw the general tumble out of his seat. For his answer managed to sound frustrated, confident, uncomfortable, articulate, and fully exhausted all at once… The general, now overcome with the weight of the words the messenger in front of him bore, stood up at attention, and replied with a simple question. "…. is it dangerous?"

* * *

In one motion, a line of turrets turned to face the oncoming star fighters. Cannon barrels heated, they drew an extra moment to take aim, and unleashed a merciless title wave of green disruptor fire. The craft broke formation to cut through, shots ripping past their cockpits. The lead pilot speed forward to lead the charge. A great flash of energy cracked before his eyes, blinding him in shock; "Ahh!" he hollered over the coms as his craft jolted in recoil. "Mobius-1, you're hit, do you read?" The voice of the second Raptor sounded as it pulled above a stream of enemy fire. "WARNING! Shielding at seventy-two percent" the A.I. droned. He leveled the craft to stop the stars from spinning wildly about him as an approaching TIE fighter was blasted by a wingmen's white missile. Breathing heavily, he pressed the accelerator and pushed his nose down back onto the attack axis. "….come on!"

The destroyer's cannons arched upward, adjusting their fire as the star fighters drew closer. For each cannon that paused to recharge, there were three more in full eruption. One of the pilots called out; "ten seconds!" The five ship formation split up, two to the left, two to the right, and one forward at full power. They all flew against a rushing current of green laser lights that rained upwards in menacing hatred. His hands clenched the flight controls, his ears droned out the cockpit's crying alarms, and his eyes winced at each passing dart of laser fire. "ready… ready…. NOW!" The lead raptor pulled ahead of the others and, drawing the destroyer's fire, released a giant burst of glowing flares that shattered into a carnival of white lights.

The destroyer's cannons froze in momentary paralysis, blinded by the countermeasures. Out of the white burst of light flew the lead raptor, barely clearing the top of the destroyer's tower. One… two… three seconds; and the cloud of interference cleared to reveal two dozen white missiles. The four raptors each caught a glare of the local star's rays as they jetted past the bridge. The missiles relentlessly slammed into the round shield emitters with full prejudice: each ensuing explosion ripping out hull plating and circuitry until both emitters snapped in a display of arching electricity to detonate in shockwaves of blue and gold light.

"Enemy shield generators are down!" the lead pilot spoke with bubbling adrenaline. "Roger that, star fighters; sensors confirm dorsal hull is exposed." Background chatter and alert tones filled the sound behind the sixth voice that spoke. "Starship Excalibur moving into assault position, we're engaging attack pattern alpha."

The destroyer's forward cannons nervously tracked the sky, searching to re-acquire the five raptors. But now, as the shielding over those once mighty cannons disappeared, their motion was far less confident. Only one target could be spotted: an unusually shaped Starship directly ahead. Again the destroyer's cannons opened fire, this time all trained on the single target before them. The streams of green laser fire, though, all ended on one blue energy barrier that protected the hull of the oncoming vessel. "Fire, full bursts" a cool voice sounded. A set of banks activated on the Starship's saucer section, and, rotating to face the oncoming destroyer, they took only a few moments to set aim.

Two solid beams of blue energy burst out from the smaller vessel and bore into the star destroyer's exposed hull. Circuitry and hull plates boiled off into space as the beams dragged up the line of disruptor cannons. One by one they exploded violently: green plasma fire and blue arcs of excess electricity poured out from where the cannons stood. The voice from the Starship's bridge echoed out over the coms. "Fire! Fire at will!"

* * *

A desert of white sand lay stretched from horizon to horizon. On it stood two fully unrelated objects; one deep-silver spacecraft, and one bright yellow umbrella. It was the umbrella that provided shade for the general's tea table, and it was the Star Fighter that brought the foreign pilot.

"What exactly do you want from us?" The general spoke through his grey, and rather dated, mustache. The pilot leaned over the table and, gesturing loosely to all of the decorations that adorned the seated man; "… but tall of this, General Sir, and whatnot" he said half consciously. With a look devoid of understanding the general asked; "You want our medals?" "No, no!-" the pilot retorted as he leant back nearly as far as he had forward. "'YOU' want you to want your medals... because you and you're having your medals leaves us wanting you to want us to want what said medals bring…." His eyebrows curled up and down, respectively, through his rather diluted sentence. He was, indeed, very far from his last point of sleep.

The general failed even to conjure words in reply. The pilot restarted: "Tell me, what do medals bring?" The general, nearly spilling his tea, responded quickly. "Why, they are marks of valor and prestige, of course. They bring respect and trust." "Ah! And whose respect to they bring?" The pilot asked with his free hand now pointing and the general's shoulder patch. "Well, but the respect of those who awarded them, respect of the alliance!" "Ah ha! Correct!" The pilot exclaimed, with the general smiling along with him; as though his correct answers placed him on track to win a grand prize.

The pilot stood erect; "Now tell me, General Sir, us both having the respect of the alliance makes us what?" The general's hat raised somewhat with his eyebrows as he plainly answered: "That would make us allies." The pilot nodded while smiling. "All the respect emanating from those medals of yours will be the respect you use to vouch for our noble intentions during our stay in your galaxy." A small, pink droid drove out to park next to the general, whose only apparent function was to then uphold a portable oscillating fan to provide some artificial breeze.

The general placed his teacup down, and leaned forward in his chair; "In other words, you want to fight the empire for your own reasons, without being asked any questions by the alliance. And you figure that as long as you're winning, they won't care." The pilot, satisfied, leaned over the table in search of an empty teacup. As the general started to pour him one, he asked "and what are these fantastically noble intentions of yours?" Breathing in the hot steam from the sweetened tea, the pilot remarked with a grin. "Kill the badguy; get the gold; save the universe."

"My god, man! That's just about every cliché in the book." The general said as his hat nearly popped off his head. The pilot placed his arm over the back of his chair as he took a health sip of his tea. "Or you can stay here and be fanned by a pink droid until the next century." The small droid holding the fan let out a toned squeak at the pilot's comment, to which he responded; "no offense, dear."

* * *

Smoke and flame gushed from the star destroyer's bridge and gun decks. A salvo of blue torpedoes blasted into its side, ripping its starboard engine out in a super-explosion that blew out debris of all sizes and shapes in all directions. The five silver raptors circled around the battle zone in a wide arc, now dodging wreckage instead of cannon fire. "Enemy destroyer is neutralized." The Starship reported, "Engaging tractor beam…" The five raptors escorted their Starship as it towed away its conquest and all the wealth that lay within.

* * *

The desert sun reflected sharply off of the resting Star Fighter's fuselage, nearly blotting out the Mobius-Strip insignia that decorated its tail. The general, once again sitting, sipped his sugary tea, and looked up at the pilot in contemplation. "Slaying an unsuspecting imperial cruiser is one thing, but waging a crusade to deny the Empire an ancient treasure it seeks? That is something else altogether. What can a single Starship and a handful of Star Fighters hope to achieve against such opposition?"

"There are more of us coming." The pilot spoke coldly. "If the empire gains mastery over this lost technology, even our sanctuaries will be threatened." The pilot ran his hand through his black hair, and looked back at the general; "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

The general nodded confidently. He may have grown grey hair and come to preside over a remote office, but his honors held no less influence within the Alliance hierarchy. Turning back up to the pilot; "You say you really come from another galaxy?" "Far, far away", the pilot retorted smoothly. "I presume you'll want something else in return?" The general asked, knowing the inevitability of all things. The pilot nodded as he pulled out a rectangular, tile-shaped object from within his inner jacket pocket: one of many items taken from the destroyer. "Yes…" He held it up to the seated man, who squinted to recognize it as an image of one particular individual.

"…Her."


	2. Something New

Winston Sebastian Henley IV. Not the third, nor the fifth; but the fourth. The number four is important... because, well, any other number would be different, wouldn't it? Shoes. Black shoes, always. Who wears brown shoes? Certainly no one under the command of Winston Sebastian Henley the Fourth; except perhaps his secretary... or his other secretary... Yes, indeed, the young women around him often got away with far more than the rest of the bumbling tools he was burdened to affiliate with. Alas, the hardships of chivalry.

He also loved his hat, almost as much as he loved tea. You see; the beauty and the elegance of tea have nothing to do with the tea itself. Tea is merely an object, an assortment of particles diluted into hot water: a solution more primitive than even carbonated soda. But you see, the regality of the whole thing rests in the way it's all done. The way one holds the glass, the order in which the emblems are set, the time of day, the mood of the environment, the color of the umbrella, and all of the other procedural effects that compile into an experience unique to every instance. Yet, most of all, the true delight of teatime is experiencing someone you fancy doing it all for you. Yes, that is truly one of life's exquisite delights.

"General Sir?" A young woman asked as she approached a well decorated man walking beside a pink R2 unit.

"Yes? What may I do for you?" Winston replied in a tone both hopeful and blank.

"Uh, well..." The young female secretary hesitated, unsure from where the General's mind was returning from.

"Yes? Come now, out with it!" Winston said, taking his hat from the small R2 unit that was patiently holding it.

"You've shaved your mustache, sir." The girl replied while trying to hide from him the pleasure she took from his cleanly-shaven air.

"Well, nothing's getting past you today, now is it?" Winston spoke with a smile that was exceedingly difficult to hate. "What do you have there?" He asked the young lady secretary, balancing both business and pleasure in his tone.

"It's him, sir; the pilot with the Mobius ribbon. He's ready to speak with you." She was all but mystified how a man, who seemingly fell from the sky, could manage to turn their world upside down; regardless of how small that world actually was.

"Ah! Very good" Winston replied. "Would you like some tea?"

* * *

The sun arched smoothly through the afternoon hours, washing the desert world in vivid tones of sierra and amber. Hidden somewhere along the endless horizon where the sky and sand met was a tiny trinket of civilization: a tiny rectangle of grey and black marked the area taken by an alliance outpost. Yellow and white lines segregated the foundation into its proper sections. Landing and takeoff runways ran the length of the rectangular area, each defined by strips of pulsing indicator lights. A single control tower and an accompanying hangar bay were all that stood taller than the rectangular surface. Occupied more by droids than by actual people, there were few luxuries to be savored.

A line of seven R2 units drove down a particular beat towards the hangar bay, each of them towing a silver container of typical load. With exception, though, it was the pink R2 unit that towed a collapsed yellow umbrella and tea set.

"We've been listening to Imperial traffic communications long enough to decipher over thirteen encryption languages." Winston said to the dark-haired, nameless pilot that walked beside him.

The general continued, hat in hand, as the two slowly followed a line of R2 units. "We've done a brilliant job of it; the empire seems to have run out of ways to code their intelligence. Yes, indeed…. The past tour has been quite the bore; we've run out of things to do here."

"Then my people's timing is perfect." The pilot responded, as the two finally stepped into the shade of the sole hanger bay.

"Yes, yes, quite so-" Winston caught site of an idling droid, and at once rolled into a taller posture. "You, there! Can you at least pretend to be busy? Look alive, there!"

The droid popped up in attention, nervously backed into the cargo container it was supposed to be carrying, and knocked it over. After a few more moments of fumbling, the container was soon on its way to the main landing zone. For today, this mind-numbing dust-collector of an outpost would become the stage of a spectacular show. Computer cores to vending machines, the contents of the base were being neatly packed away into cargo containers that were slowly stacking up in the main landing zone outside the hangar.

"So. This is the big, big man: the reason why we're turning our place upside down. Just who are you?" A pack of three alliance pilots, fully puffed in swagger, approached the lone pilot. The largest of the three stood in the middle, all of whom were garbed in their orange flight suits. Prominently visible were their command insignias which indicated their rank as commanders of the three squadrons stationed at the outpost.

"Are you deaf, hot shot? I just asked you a question. I want to know who you are…. And why we should do anything for you-"

The lone pilot, shortest of all four, raised his eyes to the tallest of the three orange-covered men. His flight suit was unlike theirs; different cut, different material, different tech, different color . . . . alien. His flight suit was jet black, and its cryptic insignias matched nothing of what any alliance or imperial database knew of. On the side of his shoulder was a symbol that matched the one emblazoned on his spacecraft's tail; a blue ribbon curled into a lone Mobius strip.

"Nobody cared who I was until climbed into a cockpit" he said with little color. "As for knowing the reason for your orders, ask your commander general." The rest of his response to the three alliance pilots consisted only of a cold stare.

Before the tall man could prosecute his objections any further, everyone's attention snapped to the sonic booms that came from the sky. Three glowing white objects descended from the heavens on approach to the base; their silhouettes slowly becoming more discernable.

"Imperials!" One of the three orange pilots erupted.

"No—be calm" the pilot with the Mobius ribbon spoke quickly, before slowly walking into the open space beyond the hanger to meet the approaching vehicles. The flying craft echoed a unique hum as they slowed down to hover in a triangular formation.

Imperial shuttles... or, at least, they used to be. They were white, black, covered in lights, and intimidating: but for a wholly different set of reasons. They moved differently. They held a static formation with extreme precision, not even the wind could press against them enough to move them out of formation by an inch. A piercing type of magnetism pervaded the entire base with their presence, drawing the attention of all; mercenary to maintenance crew. Their fuselages were somewhat larger – and thicker – and appeared as though they had been rebuilt with an alternate material. Ribbons of glowing light ran along the main design contours of the crafts, while additional glowing points pulsed along the crafts' ventral sides. Their disruptor cannons were gone: replaced by... something else.

After a few moments, an encoded pulse was emitted by all three craft: code that nothing of the listening post ever encountered. The signal continued only for several seconds, to be replaced by a single sound from the lead craft.

"Starships are prepared to receive." A loud, tin voice echoed from the lead Neo-Imperial Shuttle.

"Thank you. We will indicate your next objective shortly." The pilot in black spoke to the shuttle hovering before him as though it were a living person. Much to the surreal bewilderment of the alliance personal, though, the shuttle no only seemed to hear his words, but fully understood them, and responded with a set of mechanical tones. By now, Winston had jogged over to the pilot in black, carrying with him both excitement and a measure of awe.

"I do say, brilliant! Yes, quite so, my good man. Ha!" With a proper laugh, he turned to those under his command. To the general's back were the hovering craft, while the pilot in black paced into the background to inspect the second and third shuttles. Before the general were the base's personnel - men, women, and droid – to which he proudly spoke.

"Everyone: jolly good day! Today we will be taking on a new assignment, one that will guarantee exciting new positions and opportunity." He looked proudly at the various faces before him; "You'll all receive a detailed briefing once we relocate to our new command station. Until then..." he paused to admire a black tile-like object he pulled form his pocket; "finish packing this place up, would you?"

* * *

One of the three shuttles hovered to the large stack of rectangular containers assembled before the hanger; within them the sum total of everything worth salvaging from the outpost. Once the last few droids set the final container at the top of the stack, the shuttle hovered into a position such that its main viewing screen could inspect the entire stack in a single prospect. Then, a wave of blue light emitted from the shuttle's nose: it panted over the containers like an artist's brush on a clean canvas.

After a few such actions, the blue light stopped projecting from the shuttle's nose. With a moment's pause, a bath of blue twilit energy surrounded the containers. Just as quickly as the twilit bath of sparkling blue grew brighter, it began to fade; and with it all of the containers. The pilot in black checked his mobile computing device, and nodded to himself to verify that the transport was completed. It was the alliance pilot in orange, though, who pushed his eyebrows together in mistrust. Turning to one of his friends:

"The empire possesses no such technology; let alone a version of it that can be mounted on a simple shuttle..." The adjacent alliance pilots only nodded, for the cargo that has disappeared took up a space nearly ten times the full wingspan of the shuttle.

The second and third shuttles calmly landed, rotating their lower wings upward to stand parallel to their third. The base's R2 units and other droids loaded into one of the shuttles, while the base's secretary personal filed into the second. The lead shuttle slowly hovered into the hangar bay, searching out what remained inside. All of the auxiliary equipment had been stripped from the hangar, leaving only the vehicles it was meant to house.

One by one, the shuttle scanned each vehicle as it did the containers. One by one; three X-wing fighters, three Y-wing fighters, and three A-wing fighters; each disappeared in a blue twilit spectacle of light just like the block of containers. There were additional fighters in the bay; however they were not destined to leave this outpost: they were three B-wing fighters, and three snow speeders. The shuttle raised its lower wings to land, and did so; it opened its aft doors to permit the alliance pilots to enter.

Nine alliance pilots entered, followed by General Henley. The lone pilot in black stood at the ramp of the shuttle:

"Is that everything?" The pilot in black asked Winston.

"Everything and everyone" the general responded.

The pilot in black, and with the Mobius ribbon insignia on his shoulder, nodded, and replied simply: "Then that's it. My people will clean the rest of this."

The general only nodded in acknowledgement; and replied "We'll follow you up, lead the way."

As the Mobius pilot ran to his Star Fighter, the general activated the shuttle's door to close and walked past his men towards the empty cockpit.

"Sir?" One of the orange-clad pilots asked, "Sir, there's nobody on this shuttle: pilot or droid."

"Yeah, so?" Winston replied, taking the shuttle's controls and lifting it from the ground and out of the hangar.

"Then where did the voice come from... and what was piloting this thing?" The pilot asked, referring to when the shuttle spoke when it first arrived.

"That's a good set of questions, lad." Winston said in an annoyingly coy way. As the shuttle pulled around, the other two shuttles could be seen already lifting off, all of them lead by the star fighter with the Mobius ribbon on its tail.

The four craft took off from the stripped outpost; their contrails and sonic booms filled the sky as they launched into orbit towards the two waiting starships. Behind them, far below on the surface, their abandoned outpost disappeared into a giant mushroom cloud: all traces of its existence, as well as any reason for heading back, erased from the surface.


End file.
